


Ulmo's Blessing

by bgoldfish



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgoldfish/pseuds/bgoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sailing across the Sea into the West is but one way of returning to Valinor, as one guilt-ridden elf learns. Home-coming family times!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ulmo's Blessing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookwormfaith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormfaith/gifts).



He came out of the sea. Step by step the tall, haggard elf came forth, water sluicing off him. People stopped to stare, none had truly expected the last Feanorian to ever return. Not when he'd refused Mandos' embrace and stayed in Exile so long.

Centuries.

Ages had passed.

No sign nor sight or hair. Only a song on the wind, bidding ships fair sailing.

Onward Maglor walked, looking neither left nor right, hardly even straight ahead, though his head was up and held high as if he hadn't just come from Exile.

There was no hurry to his steps, nor sense of urgency of a place he needed to be. Had he walked the whole way, people wondered? Would Lord Ulmo have permitted it?

He must have, others argued. For out of the sea itself, none could deny that Maglor had come. And only through Ulmo's blessing could it have been possible.

All the way to Tirion, up to the palace he walked, a growing crowd at his back. It wasn't fear, exactly, that moved them to follow. It wasn't strictly believed he would harm their long-standing High King. There was no sword strapped to Maglor's waist, but when one was a son of Feanor and as skilled with words and knowledge of the Music as Maglor was, a blade or lack there of meant little if he was inclined towards harm.

When Maglor finally reached the throne room, Finarfin stood waiting, silent and neutral. No swords were drawn. None were needed. Off to one side were a pair of twins watching closely, one with perhaps a bit more silver in shoulder-lengthed hair than the twin with hair down his back.

It was the elf with short hair that finally laughed, breaking the tension in the room, and flung himself down the stairs, launching himself at Maglor. Expecting to be caught.

Caught he was, a startled breath catching in Maglor's throat as he spun Elros around a little before pulling back to stare down at him. A battered hand moved through the short silver hair, tugging gently. “I had not thought to see you again.”

Elros grinned, leaning against him. “Nor did any! But here I am, and you have come home.”

Maglor raised his eyes to his uncle, half guarded, half shy. And perhaps a little hopeful. Finarfin looked back at him, and maybe it was just his heart in his throat that said there was warmth in that gaze as the Noldoran came down the stairs toward him.

He pressed a kiss to Elros' forehead and nudged him away, back to Elrond.

Then he did something his father never would have. He sank to his knees and bowed his head. “If you will have me...”

Silence fell in the hall again, though this time it felt lighter. Warmer.

Boots came into view, then a hand touched his shoulder and he was tugged to his feet. Finarfin smiled at him, eyes clear of anger or any blame. “You are welcome here, Nephew.”

Maglor swallowed heavily, but no tears came as he bowed his head again. “Thank you...Uncle.” Did he really have the right to call the Noldoran that? Fingertips brushing his cheek said he did, as his face was gently cupped and a kiss pressed to his forehead had his eyes close. He'd forgotten...

...what it felt like. To be touched. To be accepted as more than just a pretty voice. That was this felt like. Acceptance. _Welcome_.

Days passed and Maglor slowly learned to let his feet take him around the palace in Tirion again. To remind himself of all the little boltholes and special places he'd once known. But as the many years in Middle-Earth, more often than not he found himself right back on the beach. Feet bared to the beautiful sands and the water that lapped around his ankles.

Only now there was less fear of being swept away by a Vala's retribution. Strings of a familiar plant brought him pause and suddenly he looked up as the Music Sang around him. And Lord Ulmo stood before him, knee-deep in water and seeming just as he had when he'd finally bid Maglor return with him.

The Sea Vala let his pleasure be known, no words were needed. Then he was gone, as Maglor sang for him in intense gratitude. He'd feared setting foot on ships.

And Ulmo had Made It So he wouldn't have to.


End file.
